


I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face

by leyley09



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Getting Together, M/M, Mention of career-ending injury, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leyley09/pseuds/leyley09
Summary: “OH MY FUCKING GOD, Nicklas, you bought that man tea, and you won’t even admit you’ve been staring at him?!?”Or sometimes, fate needs a little push. Or a meddling best friend. Same difference.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I once heard someone say every fanfic writer needs a coffee shop AU, so here's mine. This brings no new twists or surprises to the trope, but it's fluffy and (hopefully) funny, and there can never be too much of either in the world.
> 
> Since this is an AU, please ignore discrepancies in "real life" facts. There are a couple fairly glaring ones that I am ignoring for artistic license, so head's up.
> 
> As always, thanks to ChelseaIBelieve and KhakiAnnie for reading rough drafts and saying nice things. You guys are the best.
> 
> Title from "I Wanna Get Better" by Bleachers

“You’re staring again.”

“What? I am not.”

“Whatever you say, Bäckis, you totally aren’t staring at the guy on his phone over in the corner.”

“I’m not!”

Erik rolls his eyes. They’ve been having this conversation for the last four days, and each time, Nicke insists he’s not watching this customer. He is absolutely, 100%, watching this customer. He just won’t own up to it.

Nicke elbows past him, headed towards the other end of the counter, where they keep the tea-making supplies. He fills the electric kettle and switches it on. “Where’s that box with the new teas?”

“We ordered more teas?”

“In the order this morning, there were two new types.”

Erik stares blankly at him. “I wasn’t here for the morning delivery. Why would I know where the tea is?”

Nicke sighs dramatically, like Erik makes his life so difficult.

Erik snorts at him. “Why did we need new teas, Nicke?”

They already have 17 varieties - three of which taste exactly the same to Erik. But tea is the only thing in the shop that Nicke gets really excited about, so Erik rarely complains. But how many types of tea does one coffee shop actually need?

“It’s just two,” Nicke says defensively, pulling a box out from the bottom of the stack. “I just -- I wanted to try something new.”

(Erik’s known Nicklas since childhood, and that’s a fucking suspicious answer.)

The kettle behind Nicke beeps quietly to signal its cycle is complete.

“Excuse me,” says a quiet, accented voice from behind Erik.

He turns to see their newest -- and very phone-obsessed -- customer standing at the counter. His gaze drifts past Erik towards Nicke. Something clangs to the floor. 

Erik grins widely. “Hi, what can we do for you?”

The customer looks back to him slowly. “Can I get another tea?”

Oooooohhhhhhhhh… Erik smothers his chuckle with a cough. “Well, we have 17 - no, we have 19 different varieties. 17 are listed there” - he points toward the menu - “and our newest two… Nicke, what are the new flavors?”

“Oh, um,” Nicke clears his throat and a couple of tea tins clank against the marble counter-top. “A low caffeine jasmine blend, and, uh, an imported blend called, um, Russian Caravan.”

_ Annnd _ there it is. Erik would bet a million dollars right now that this new customer is Russian. He’d tack on an additional bet that Nicke is currently blushing like a fire hydrant.

“Really?!” The customer’s face lights up. “I can never find this anywhere, you are magician to have this.”

“One Russian Caravan coming right up, then?” Erik laughs.

He turns to relay the order to Nicke - like he hasn’t already heard it - but Nicke is already reaching for the kettle.

“For here or to go?”

The customer’s grin fades a bit. “To go, actually, can’t be late for next meeting.”

“Can I get a name for the cup?”

“Alex.” The customer looks confused; he’s literally the only person in the shop besides Nicke and Erik. He’s also standing right there. They aren’t going to need to yell across the room when his order is ready.

“Hi, Alex, I’m Erik.” Erik grins and winks at Alex. “Nicke, can you put Alex’s tea in a to go cup, please?” 

Alex smiles back, grin slowly growing.

“That’ll be $4.65, Alex.”

Alex hands him his card, but his attention is already drifting past Erik again. Erik has no idea what is taking Nicke so long; surely he didn’t order loose leaf tea again?

Erik hands Alex his card and receipt, and a moment later, Nicke sets a to go cup on the counter, lid balanced lightly on top.

“I left the lid off so you can add whatever you need to it,” he says shyly, gesturing toward the standalone counter with the sugar packets and milk jugs.

“Thank you,” Alex replies, too seriously for a cup of tea.

No one moves.

Erik looks back and forth between them. Oh dear god. “WELL, I better get the rest of this stuff unpacked. See you tomorrow, Alex?”

Alex startles. “Oh, yes, for this tea, you see me every day!” He smiles at Nicke (since he’s not looking at Erik) and goes to add a ridiculous amount of sugar to his tea on his way to the door.

The door has barely closed when Erik turns to his business partner. “OH MY FUCKING GOD, Nicklas, you bought that man tea, and you won’t even admit you’ve been staring at him?!?”

Nicke just glares at him and stomps off to the office. He snatches a mug of tea from the counter on his way. 

Only the Russian Caravan has been opened.

 

*******************

 

As co-owners of  _ Kaffeställe _ , either Erik or Nicke are always there during business hours (and sometimes during not-business hours). Food service is a tough business, and they’re perpetually short-staffed. Some shifts, they’re the only ‘employees’ present.

It’s one of those shifts, the next time Erik notices Alex in the queue. Morning rush is just starting to come down from its peak, so they’re still pretty busy. Erik’s working the register and labeling cups while Nicke is a whirlwind of blond hair and hazelnut behind him, dishing up baked goods and bitching under his breath every time someone orders iced coffee. (There might have been a small accident with the hazelnut syrup. Erik is very sorry, and he’s already ordered Nicke new shoes.)

“Good morning, what can we make for you?” Erik asks Alex, with his first genuine smile in over an hour.

“Russian Caravan, largest you have. To go, please.”

From the corner of his eye, Erik sees Nicke freeze momentarily. He snickers to himself, scribbles several extra words on Alex’s cup, and slides it down the counter towards Nicke. Alex pays and moves towards the pick up area. Erik wants to watch, but there are still six people in line. He does see Alex leave a few moments later, glancing back to wave at Erik as he goes.

The rush is over very abruptly. There’s an older couple at a table near the far window, but everyone else has collected their purchases and gone about their day.

“I can’t believe you,” Nicke hisses as he carries a pile of dirty dishes into the kitchen.

“What did I do?”

“You know Google Translate is a thing, right? Swedish isn’t an unbreakable code.”

“Well, if you’d talk to the man or be a stereotypical barista and put your number on a cup, I wouldn’t have to bug you about it. In any language.”

“I don’t need your help, Erik.”

Erik begs to differ.

 

*******************

 

Two days later, Erik is going cross-eyed looking at an Excel file from their accountant when one of their newer staff members pokes her head around the corner.

“Russian Tea Guy is back. André says you wanted to know that?”

Erik pushes away from his desk with relief. “Oh yes, wouldn’t want to miss this.”

Erin rolls her eyes and heads back to the front. Erik follows her, but ducks into the kitchen instead of through the door to the storefront. Perfect; Nicke has just finished with the last of the morning dishes. What a good excuse to be out front.

“Nicke, you need help moving those?”

Nicke frowns at him, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Do they need them?”

“It’s almost lunch, so they will need them. Let’s just take them up now.”

He grabs one of the stacks - three trays full of mugs - and Nicke grabs the other. He uses his back to push open the door to the storefront and sees the exact moment that Nicke notices Alex in the line. 

He doesn’t freeze, exactly, not like he had the other day. He does blush though, and he shoots Erik a very evil glare. Erik just smiles back and lets him pass by.

Extra mugs stashed under the back counter, neither of them really has a reason to linger. With three baristas in today, they’re just in the way. That doesn’t seem to matter to Nicke right now; he’s stolen a notepad from under the register and appears to be taking inventory of their tea. Erik knows for a fact that he did that same inventory yesterday. He leans against the wall next to the back door and settles in to watch the awkward.

Three customers later, Alex makes it to the front of the line. He’s digging through a messenger bag that’s only moments away from overflowing with papers and computer cables and paying very little attention to anything else.

“Good morning, what can I get you?” André asks, just a little too loudly.  

Nicke twitches but doesn’t look back at the counter.

“One large Russian Caravan, please. And a chocolate chip muffin, to go.”

There’s a slight but noticeable pause as André surveys the other two baristas, busy mixing orders for previous customers. He turns toward the tea supplies. “Mr. Bäckström, could you get that tea started?”

Erik bites back his chuckles -- it’s a struggle, but he does it. Nicke’s glare, currently directed at a cabinet full of cardboard boxes, could set something on fire. He can’t ignore the request for too long though, as there’s still a line behind Alex.

“Sure, André.” Nicke’s voice is flat and tense. Erik can only tell how much effort he’s putting into ignoring the counter because he’s known him so long.

Alex frowns a little bit, but pays André as requested and moves over to wait for his order. Another barista, Kathy, hands him a bag with the muffin. Erik watches Nicke’s hands shake as he pulls the to go cups and lids towards him and as he pours the tea.

Finally, he turns to pass the cup over the counter to Alex. Erik wants to laugh again. It’s like watching a romantic comedy happen right in front of them

Alex smiles broadly. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Alex.”

Nicke flushes and looks at his feet. He glances back up at Alex through his lashes. “Nicklas.”

Alex blinks a couple times before smiling even more broadly. (Erik’s familiar with the response. That’s one of Nicke’s go-to moves, and it works every time.)

“Nice to meet you, Nicklas. Thank you for tea.”

Erik can barely hear Nicke’s “you’re welcome” over the rest of the crowd noise, but he can see the twinkle in Alex’s eye as he takes the cup, brushing his hand very obviously along Nicke’s as he takes hold of it.

“See you soon, Nicklas.”

Nicke doesn’t get out a response before Alex has left the shop, and Erik actually has to pull him away from the counter into the back office. He pushes him down onto the desk chair and goes back out front. 

“André, excellent work just now.”   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Karlsson.” André’s cheeky grin is very infectious.

“Just a tip, try to avoid Nicklas for the rest of your shift, okay?”

André’s eyes widen dramatically as Kathy and Erin burst out laughing behind him. “Is he mad?”

“Not yet, but he might be a little cranky later, so just keep your head down; you’ll be fine.”

Back in the office, Nicke is still staring blankly into space. Erik bumps hims with a shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yes, of course; I’m fine.”

“That was almost convincing.”

“Fuck off, Erik.”

“Don’t be crabby with me, Nicke. I just got you a conversation with the customer you’ve got a crush on; you should be grateful.”

“Stop helping me, Erik. I’m serious.” 

Erik rolls his eyes. “I’m immune to your glares, Nicklas, so give it a rest.” He carefully shifts Nicke’s stack of paperwork away from the edge of the desk so he can sit along the edge. “If I let you take your time with this, you’d wait until your deathbed to ask this guy out. I’m not saying you have to propose to him tomorrow; I’m just suggesting that maybe you have a conversation with the guy so you can find out if you want to propose to him next week.”

Nicke shoves him off the desk. But when Erik rights himself enough to see, he’s smiling, just a little. Just a little is enough; it means Erik’s apartment won’t burn down tonight.

 

*******************

 

The next time he sees Alex, Nicke’s not in; Erik insists each of them take one full day off each week. He pretends not to know Nicke’s probably doing paperwork at home. It’s a bright, sunny afternoon, though the sun is having little effect on the pedestrians in their coats and scarves.

“Hey, Alex!”

“Hi.” 

Erik hopes Alex isn’t trying to be subtle looking for Nicke. If he is, that’s just sad. Eventually, he takes pity on the man.

“Nicke’s not here today.”

“Oh.” Alex blushes, scuffing one foot along the floor.

“He’ll be sorry he missed you. Getting your regular?”

“Yes.” three, two, one… “He what?”

Erik snorts. “Alex, buddy, we didn’t start carrying Russian Caravan tea until you’d been here three times. And I don’t order the tea. So…”

He lets Alex ponder that while the kettle boils. Alex starts when he sets the large mug on the counter. 

“So, Alex, what do you do? You seem to be in and out of here at all hours.”

“Teach sports medicine at the college. Classes and office hours make for weird schedule.”

Erik leans a hip against the counter to watch him add eight thousand packets of sugar to his tea. “Sports medicine, huh? Play any sports yourself?”

“Oh yeah,” Alex glances back at him while he stirs, “basketball for fun, played hockey for a while.”

There are red lights and sirens going off in Erik’s brain. He’s been thinking for a couple weeks now that Alex looks more familiar than his repeated visits would warrant.

“Did you happen to play for the Russian national team a while back? Under-18s, World Juniors?”

Alex straightens slowly, leaving his mug in front of the sugar packets. He turns and eyes Erik a little suspiciously. “Yes, I did. How you know that?”

Erik smiles. “We played for Sweden, me and Nicke. Four years.”

Alex’s eyes widen slowly, “Nicklas...Bäckström, oh my god, that’s Nicklas Bäckström!” He slumps against the counter, apparently too shocked to bother standing up properly.

Erik leans over the counter. “At our first World Juniors, there was this Russian kid, little bit older than us, that wouldn’t leave Nicke alone. He never could figure out why this guy kept following us around - that was you, wasn’t it.”

Alex barely nods, blushing and eyes trained on his shoes.

“We didn’t see you the next year.”

“No.” Alex frowns. “There was an accident, and my knee…” He trails off. “Is okay now, for normal life, just not for hockey.”

They stand there in silence for a minute.

“Ankle, for me,” Erik says eventually. “Wasn’t very dramatic, just broke it being stupid over the summer, and it just wasn’t the same.” He doesn’t explain about Nicke’s hip; that’s not his story to tell. But it does feel like time to lighten the mood. “So do we tell Nicke you were the cute Russian that followed us around Helsinki?”

“Cute Russian?”

Erik can’t quite communicate “unimpressed” with his face as well as Nicke, but he’s not far behind. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve nagged Nicke about you. He’s wonderful at making the first move on the ice….not so much off of it.”

Alex begins to speak, but he’s interrupted by music playing from inside his bag. He scrambles frantically through it and manages to pull out a phone while it’s still ringing. Erik doesn’t speak Russian so he can’t understand what’s being said, but whoever’s on the other end sounds stressed. There’s some back and forth before Alex hangs up with a sigh.

“Can I get this in to go cup? My TA is having crisis.”

“Sure. Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“Probably not, but Kuzy new at this. Doesn’t know what to do when kids argue about grades.”

Erik snaps the lid on the to go cup and hands it over. “Good luck with that. Guess we’ll see you around?”

“Oh sure, nowhere else I can get this tea,” Alex chuckles. “But, uh, maybe don’t tell Nicklas about the hockey?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Alex nods sharply. “I, I want to tell.”

“Okay. He won’t hear it from me.”

  
  


*******************

 

Just because Erik agreed not to tell Nicke directly doesn’t mean he can’t push Nicke to figure it out on his own.

He starts small, with a lot of “do you remember” questions that focus on their tournament in Helsinki. They’ve got some good memories from that trip - a great bunch of teammates, winning silver. The baristas love the stories; André in particular likes the one about the sushi eating contest and both Sedins throwing up even though Daniel was the only one participating.

He tells several such stories the day after Alex’s revelation. Fast forward four days, and both Erik and Nicke have spent more time thinking about their WJ tournament in Helsinki than they have in years. 

Finally, he’s ready for the coup de grace. They’re in the kitchen watching Nate, their part-time baker, experiment with new muffin flavors when Erik decides now is the time to ask the most important question of the week. “Wasn’t Helsinki the trip with that Russian player you had such a huge crush on?"

The metal bowl of muffin batter Nate’s stirring slips off the counter and crashes to the floor. The ringing sound of the bowl spinning is the only noise in the room for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Sorry,” Nate finally says into the awkward silence. He crouches down and begins scooping the escaped batter back into the bowl. Erik leans across the central table and hands him a spatula.

“I had forgotten about that,” Nicke finally replies, very precisely. That’s his “trying to hide something” voice - which hasn’t worked on Erik for years and doesn’t work now.

“Had you really?” Erik answers with feigned nonchalance. “What was his name again?”

“Alex,” Nicke answers far, far too quickly.

“Really?” Erik asks, insincere shock dripping from every syllable. “What are the odds of that?”

“Pretty high, actually,” Nate pipes up from floor. “Alex is short for a couple of the most common male names in Russia.” He pops up with a wide grin that falters rapidly at the unimpressed glares he’s receiving. “I’m going to go….be somewhere else.” 

The door to the hall swings back and forth in his wake, leaving Erik and Nicke alone with a ticking timer and an oven full of muffins.

“So what have we learned today?”

“Those kale muffins were a bad idea.”

“And…”

“And, apparently I like Russians.”

“Well, not all Russians.” Nicke’s silent feud with the pet store owner up the block is practically legendary in the neighborhood.

Nicke giggles. “No, not all Russians.”

“Just ones named Alex.”

Nicke rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know Alex.”

“You  _ could _ . Trust me, if you gave him even a hint that you wanted that, you could get to know him better. Who knows what you might have in common?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll give him a hint. If he doesn’t take it, will you let this go?”

Like that’s going to happen. “Yes, okay. If Alex doesn’t show any return interest in you, I will let it go.”

 

*******************

 

Erik has worked hard to earn his reputation as a clever guy who makes things happen. His best friend’s lifelong happiness is no time to slack off.

He starts with an afternoon stroll in the direction of the nearby college. It’s not a big campus, only a few blocks of buildings clustered close together. The sports complex is one of the closest buildings to the shop; it seems like a good place to start searching for the sports medicine department.

Luck is on his side; he’s not even to the building when Alex comes out, being trailed by a handful of people who are probably students. He stops short as he reaches the sidewalk just a few feet in front of Erik.

“Hey Alex! You got a minute?”

One of the students, a slender guy with nearly ginger hair, rattles off a lot of rapid Russian. Alex shoves him away, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. The cluster of students wander away chattering in at least three languages that Erik can identify.

“Sorry about them,” Alex shrugs. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you about Nicke, sorry, Nicklas.”

“Sure, yes, what about?”

“The next time you’re in the shop, you need to be very clear that you’re interested in him.”

Alex eyes widen abruptly. “Uh--”

“Don’t even try it,” Erik points his finger right in Alex’s face. “I’m not blind, man. You were interested before you figured out who he was, and don’t even try to tell me that you aren’t still interested now that you know.”

Alex has the decency to look sheepish. “Okay, but why--”

“I’m getting to that. He’s not convinced that you  _ are _ interested, so he won’t make a move. So if you want to get anywhere with him before you retire, you need to make a move or be very, very clear that you’re interested so I can, uh, strongly encourage him to make one.”

“What should I do?”

“Well, you could be straightforward and ask him out,” Erik grins. “Or…”

 

*******************

 

Two days later, at exactly 2 pm, Alex strolls into the shop, announced by the overly cheerful jangle of bells André had decided to attach to the door.

Erik had been calmly sipping from a cup of coffee and leafing through the free weekly newspaper that they distributed -- that is, until he glanced up to see Alex. He chokes on his last sip of coffee, spraying the paper and most of the counter. 

His coughing fit does some good; it brings Nicke out of the kitchen. “Are you dying? I need to cash in that insurance poli--”

Erik can’t get enough air yet to really appreciate the way he stops talking so abruptly; he hopes the security cameras are running today so he can watch this later with all his brain cells functioning.

He’d told Alex to start out by telling Nicke he’d played for Team Russia, so they could ‘figure out’ together that they’d met before. He had meant using words, but the probably-two-sizes-too-small Team Russia World Juniors t-shirt Alex is wearing is probably working. Assuming Nicke is actually reading the words printed on it.

“Hey Alex,” Erik finally manages to cough out. “Nice shirt.”

Alex beams. “Thank you. Found in a box last night; still fits!”

“For certain definitions of ‘fits’, I guess.”

“True, was very long time ago. I was narrower then. Hair was worse.”

“You-- you were in Helsinki?” Nicke sounds both shocked and suspicious - which should be impossible, but Nicke’s that kind of overachiever.

“I was! Wait, you know where this tournament was held?” The surprise in Alex’s voice is very convincing; Erik can’t help being impressed.

“Yes, I do,” Nicke replied with a suspicious look at Erik. “Erik and I were there, too.”

“Team Sweden!” Erik adds. He pastes a look of dawning awareness on his face. “Alex, what’s your last name?”   


“Ovechkin.” It looks like he’s going to say more, but everyone gets distracted as Nicke knocks several of their frothing pitchers onto the floor.

“Ovechkin?” He asks weakly, eyes on the rolling pitchers. 

“Yes?” Alex is beginning to look unsure. Erik doesn’t blame him - this isn’t working out quite like they planned.

Nicke turns absolutely furious eyes on Erik. “Did you know about this,” he snaps, his voice low and menacing.

Erik takes an unconscious step backwards. “Know about what?”

“Is this what all those ‘do you remember’ stories were about? You figured it out and thought ‘how can I use this to embarrass Nicke, it’ll be so funny’, right?”

“Nicke, no--”

“Well, it worked!” Nicke shouts over him. “Thank you for reminding me that I’m not better at relationships at 29 than I was at 19. I can’t believe you would do this to me, Erik, I can’t--” The last frothing pitcher left on the counter flies just past Erik’s head and bounces with a clang off the wall behind him. The door to the back hall swings dramatically behind Nicke, and Erik and Alex both flinch when the back door slams shut.

“That, uh, that didn’t go how I expected it to,” Erik manages to get out a minute later.

“No,” Alex replies, voice shaky. He looks distraught. Erik had all but promised him that Nicke would be delighted to find out who he was. 

“He’s not mad at you, Alex. He’s mad at me,” Erik sighs. “I’m gonna fix it, okay? I promise, I’m gonna fix it.” He sidesteps a couple of frothing pitchers on his way towards the back hall. He yells towards the kitchen, “André, you’re in charge for a bit, don’t burn the place down,” and grabs his keys from the office. He’s not really sure where Nicke might go, but this city isn’t that big. He’ll find him. There’s a sad Russian in his coffee shop that really needs him to.

 

*******************

 

He finds Nicke twenty minutes later, leaning against the boards of the outdoor ice rink in the main city park. He approaches carefully, making sure he’s well within peripheral vision. Not only does it keep Nicke from feeling ambushed, it also prevents a repeat of the last time he snuck up on Nicke (though that black eye  _ was _ epic).

He leans against the boards a couple of feet away. “I’m sorry.”

“For.”

“No one was trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or however you described it. I figured out who Alex was about a week ago, and he asked not to tell you because he wanted to tell you himself. And you know how I am - I thought I could get you to figure it out on your own without saying anything specifically.”

“That’s what all the stories were about.”

“Yeah. And then you said you’d actually make a move if he looked like he was interested in return, so I went looking for him to make sure he was very obvious about it.”

“Why.”

Erik rolls his eyes. “Nicke, don’t be stupid, it’s unnatural. Because you need to make a move this time. You were ridiculous about him before, and sure you were young, whatever, but of all the places in the world for the former Russian hockey player you had a crush on to walk into, he walked into  _ your _ coffee shop. And you took one look at him and went right back to being ridiculous without even knowing it was the same guy.” He slides closer and nudges Nicke with his elbow. “Most people don’t get second chances like this, Bäckis. He really wants one, and I know you do, too. So will you please, for the love of all that’s holy, take it?”

They stand listening to the sounds of the rink for several minutes before Nicke says anything - “He really wants one?”

Erik drops his head to his folded arms. “Nicke, if you could see the way you two look at each other, you’d throw up in your mouth a little.”

Nicke snickers, giggles, and then outright cackles. He’s so weird; it’s a good thing Erik’s used to him.

He lets Nicke laugh until he’s nearly wheezing, then hip checks him. “C’mon, let’s go see if Prince Charming is still at the shop.”

 

*******************

 

“Thank god you’re back, Alex is out front moping, and he’s driving customers away with his sadness,” André declares loudly from the kitchen.

“He is not,” Nate glares at André before turning to glare at Nicke, “but he is making your staff very sad, so you should go do something about that.”

“Nate, do we have any more of those chocolate chocolate chip cupcakes?” Erin sticks her head into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re back. Take one of those cupcakes out to your boyfriend before he cries, okay? I do not get paid enough to deal with this drama.”

Nicke looks at Erik. 

“Oh no, she was  _ definitely _ talking to you. Go on, take the man a cupcake.”

“Fine. All of you, stay in here.” Nicke snatches the plate of cupcakes Nate is holding out and stalks out of the kitchen. 

“Three, two, one,” Erik counts out loud before all of them dash for the door. He slips out just ahead of André and Nate, who get stuck trying to go through the kitchen door together.

“Shhhh!” Erin scolds them. She’s peeking through a crack in the door to the storefront. Nate and André squash in around her; Erik can see through the window, so he just stands back far enough to not be immediately visible, should anyone glance that way.

Alex is sitting at a corner table, staring morosely out the window. There’s a steaming mug in front of him and the wrappers of several cupcakes littering the table top. He’s fiddling with one wrapper, crumpling it up and letting it unfold over and over. He doesn’t look up when the plate of cupcakes is set down in front of him. He doesn’t look up when Nicke pulls out the opposite chair and sits down. 

“Those are the last of the chocolate chocolate chip, so make them last.”

That startles Alex out of his funk. Tea sloshes over the edge of his mug. “What, huh?”

Nicke smirks, but it fades quickly. “I’m sorry. About the running out - and the yelling.”

“No, no, no need to apologize, is me who should apologize. Should have just said, shouldn’t have tried to be clever.”

“No, it’s just--” Nicke sighs and picks at the edge of the table with a fingernail. “Erik kept talking about Helsinki, and all it did was remind me that I spent almost two weeks watching, well, you and wishing I was brave enough to talk to you. And you’d think I’d be better than that now, it’s been ten years, but here I was, watching you and wishing I was brave enough to talk to you again. It’s pathetic and sad and --”

“Nicklas!” Alex leans across the table, barely missing the cupcakes with an elbow, to tilt Nicke’s chin up towards him. “Maybe you don’t notice, but in Helsinki, I’m also not talking to you. Lots of watching, kept trying to figure out where your team is so I can be there too. But never said anything, not even ‘hi’. Too scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what?” Nicke almost laughs.

Alex does laugh. “Scared of the beautiful blond angel with the pinpoint passes, so out of my league. Well, off the ice, anyway.”

Nicke snorts. “I’m not an angel.”

“Shows what you know,” Alex leans back in his chair. “Angels aren’t nice; angels are warriors. Maybe you had stick instead of sword, but in here--” he pauses to gesture at his eyes “-- warrior.”

Nicke rolls his eyes.

“Is very sexy.” Alex laughs when Nicke blushes. “And now, now I’m not much better. I come in here first time because is on my way to friend’s pet store and need caffeine. Come back because I see you behind counter and think ‘how can there be two of them, the world can’t be so lucky’. And this time, I think, going to be brave; have done harder things, this should be easy yes?”

“You did talk to me. Introduced yourself and everything.”

“Yes, eventually. Was very proud of myself too. And then next time I’m here, Erik and I figure out,” he waves his hand in a very vague way, “and I get scared again. Even after Erik finds me, tells me not to worry, I’m still thinking this angel, so out of my league. And so have to be very clever...but I think was too much.” He tugs a little at the t-shirt.

“I don’t know,” Nicke glances down briefly and then back up. (“He’s doing that eyelashes thing, little cheater,” Erik murmurs. “Shhhh!” says everyone else watching from the hall.) “I like it.”

Alex just stares for a moment before a grin breaks across his face. He outright beams at Nicke across the table, who’s blushing now every time they make eye contact.

There should be a limit to how long two people can simply stare at each other. Everyone in the hall is beginning to fidget. André starts to whisper, “How long--” but he’s interrupted, unintentionally, by movement from the front room.

Nicke lunges abruptly across the table and kisses Alex. It’s short and looks kind of awkward; Nicke moved too fast to get a good angle, and the table is in the way. He’s got an elbow in the middle of a cupcake.  

Nicke pulls away, looking uncertain and off-balance. He doesn’t get all the way back across the table before Alex grabs hold of the front of his sweater and pulls him back. The rest of the cupcakes are ignominiously squashed between Nicke’s torso and the table. 

The hallway audience breaks into cheers, whistles, and uproarious applause (for four people, anyway).

Nicke jerks away from Alex to glare in their general direction. Alex leans his head against Nicke’s shoulder, but his laughter is drowning out whatever it is Nicke is saying. It’s probably a good thing; Erik doesn’t really want to spend the rest of the day translating Swedish obscenities for their staff. 

There’s some bumping and elbowing as the three people peeking past the door all try to go through it at the same time. Erik steps back from the melee and watches through the window as Alex grabs his bag and then Nicke and escapes through the front door. They’re long gone by the time the peanut gallery get into the storefront.

“Nicke’s never going to get the frosting out of that sweater,” André says sadly.

“Ugh,” Erin throws up her hands and heads back through the door. “You have no romance in your soul.”

“I do! I think? I’m pretty sure, how do you tell?!” Nate chases after her down the hallway.

  
  


EPILOGUE

 

On a beautiful spring day a few months later, Erik waves off their bulk food delivery guy from the back door. André and Kathy have the front well under control, Nicke should be almost done with whatever spreadsheet he’s been swearing at this morning, and Nate is about to find out he’s helping load all of this milk into the walk-in cooler. It’s a good day.

Well, it is a good day until Erik opens the walk-in cooler.

“Goddammit, Nicke! This is like the eighth fucking time, can’t you guys do... _ that _ ...somewhere with a door that locks? And some place the health inspector won’t suddenly show up? I don’t even want to imagine what she’d do to our rating if she came in right now. And for the love of god, Alex, pants are a requirement in this restaurant, I don’t care if you are sleeping with one of the owners. I  _ really _ don’t want to have to say that again.”

“Oh my god, my eyes,” Nate moans, crouched behind a table.

“And another thing, ignoring basic decency and health code violations, it’s fucking cold in there, are you out of your minds?”

They brush past him, both giggling like idiots, more or less clothed. Alex throws a completely insincere “Never happen again, sorry” over his shoulder as he follows Nicke out into the hall. 

“Do you ever sometimes wish we’d left them staring at each other all awkward?” Nate asks as he comes around the table to shift a crate of milk into the cooler.

Erik’s stumbled across Nicke and Alex in various degrees of inappropriateness several times in the last few months - making out in the kitchen, the office, the alley out back; well past that the last time he let himself into Nicke’s apartment without calling ahead (never, never again). He’s seen parts of his best friend he hasn’t seen since they were in locker rooms together and parts of his best friend’s new boyfriend that he hadn’t ever seen and didn’t want to start. But even still, he thinks about six-months-ago-Nicke who would have spent all day fuming in the office about the way Erik does paperwork and dragged some of of it home so he could send Erik cranky text messages until all hours of the night, and….

“Nope, I really don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: "Nicke" is the Swedish way of shortening Nicklas (please see Nicklas Backstrom's hockey gloves as exhibit A), so I'm using that instead of the more commonly seen "Nicky" since our narrator is also Swedish. :)
> 
>  
> 
> I can be found @leyley09 on both tumblr and twitter if you'd like to shout with and/or at me about Nicklas Backstrom. Or any number of other things, but that one's my favorite. :D


End file.
